Fallen
by kenwave
Summary: "Have you seen the Inspector? He used to have such beautiful ivory wings. It's a shame what happened, isn't it?" Wingfic. Post-Seine AU.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter I:

He balances precariously on the slippery parapet; light mist in the air around him as he stares longingly into the turbulent waters of the Seine. The river calls to him, he can feel it. It's urging him to fall into its sweet embrace, like a mother holding out her arms for her child to hide within after a particularly terrifying nightmare.

Clouds block out any light that may have shone from the stars. Even if they had been visible they would have been obscured by the fog that has settled around the streets.

As he stands on the parapet, looking around him, his mind is plagued by thoughts. Thoughts he has not allowed himself the luxury to affect him in the past. Javert wants to end the thoughts spinning around his head. This internal rebellion has been unleashed by a convict, of all people!

He pushes his damp bangs back from his forehead, giving his hands something to do as he stares down at the water.. The wings that used to stand still and sure behind his back, like those on a marble statue, tremble minutely, betraying his turmoiled thoughts.

The water calls to him, telling him to finally bring his mind to rest. He's exhausted in more ways than one. Body, mind, soul, everything.

Javert risks one last glance at the sky, looking for an answer. The lack of stars is answer enough for him. He turns back to the Seine and squares his shoulders, finally coming to a decision.

 **X**

Valjean spares a glance to the window, expecting to see the Inspector standing there, but he's nowhere to be seen.

Valjean frowns. This isn't like him. If Javert was anything, he was reliable. Reliable to be where Valjean ended up; reliable to arrest someone who has broken the law; and reliable to show up on time. He has witnessed the latter two enough times in Montreuil-sur-Mer.

He's sure the Inspector has promised him that he would return to arrest Valjean. He knows he heard the man utter those words angrily at him, through clenched teeth.

His wings twitch and he remembers that he should probably relax them. He is an old man after all, he doesn't want them to be sore tomorrow. It will cause even more problems for him, ones that he doesn't quite have the time or patience to deal with currently.

When another hour passes and there is still no sign of Javert, Valjean grabs his coat and yanks it on . He leaves the house as fast as he possibly can, careful to make sure the door isn't slammed shut. It wouldn't do to have a neighbour or someone else waking up and enquiring about what he's doing out so late in the night. What could he even say if someone had asked? He shakes his head, now is not the time to think about things what will not be.

The streets are dangerous, Valjean has experienced the danger first hand. He knows the Inspector is a very capable man who would be able to take care of himself during such a turbulent time. But who knows what could have possibly befallen the man who has been chasing him for roughly the last decade of his life.

He rushes along the streets, avoiding the police wandering about. It wouldn't do to finally be arrested at this moment when he had one last thing to do. To make sure that Javert was okay. He knows it's ridiculous for him to be worried about that man but, he can't help the anxiety that grips him. Javert was almost killed earlier in the day, who is to say that he would not find himself in a similar situation again.

His feet bring him to the Pont au Change. It's deserted. A chilly wind blows softly, ruffling his feathers and making him wrap his wings closer around himself to stay warm. That's when something catches his eyes.

Resting atop the parapet, weighed down by something Valjean is unable to see, is a hat.

 _How odd_ , Valjean thinks. The hat must have been deliberately placed there as no lost hats appeared in such a manner as this one.

A shiver runs down Valjean's spine that leaves chills all over his body. Something compels him to peer over the parapet into the rolling waters of the Seine.

Something below catches his eyes. Whatever it is flails, causing an even greater disturbance to the water. He can't quite make out what's moving around down there, but something deep in his gut tells him this is not the natural course nature takes. This isn't a misfortunate animal whose life has reached its end. It's something darker and sadder, he's sure.

Suddenly bright white flashes briefly above the waves, a beacon in the black sky.

Valjean starts taking off his jacket before he has time to think. Somewhere in his mind, he's already registered that the mysterious, flailing thing in the water is a person. The quick flash of white above water could only be one thing, their wings.

Be briefly wonders how this individual could have possibly fallen into the Seine, but quickly pushes it down. They could be drowning at this moment, no, they are definitely drowning, Valjean is sure about it. There is no time to think about how they could have ended up in a situation such as this when their life is on the line.

Valjean quickly takes off his jacket and waistcoat and puts them next to the top hat resting serenely on the parapet.

The wind picks up and Valjean curses the weather. He is old, his wings are not as strong as they used to be. With the wind becoming stronger with each passing moment, he has a smaller chance of being able to fly to the person in the water, which is the quickest way to rescue them.

Kicking off his shoes as he races to the river side, Valjean prepares himself for the worse. The Seine is not a forgiving lady. When given the chance, she will pull the lost souls who have fallen into her arms down into her embrace, never letting go until there is no life left within them.

He hopes that this isn't the case with the unfortunate soul who has finally stopped struggling. It appears as if they have finally given up, the water pulling them down slowly.

Valjean wades into the water and submerges himself, using his wings to propel himself forward in order to get to the drowning individual faster. As soon as he is within arm's distance, he grabs their arm. Trying to swim up toward the surface, the man's - for surely it's a man for a woman could not be this thin and weigh so much - thick overcoat keeps on pulling them downwards once more. Valjean pulls the coat off of the man as fast as he is able to and doesn't look back as it slowly sinks downward.

He breaks the surface with a gasp and pulls the man to shore. The weight of their soaked wings combined starting to cause trouble for him. Valjean is strong, especially for a man his age, but there is only so much he is able to carry before he collapses.

When his feet are finally able to hit the bank, he lets out a breath of relief. The weight of the man including the increased weight of damp wings makes him sag, but Valjean vows to not rest until the man now draped over his back is no longer in danger of drowning.

Once he is finally free from the water, he gently places the man on the ground. The man's face is covered in dark hair and Valjean pushes it from his face in order to make sure he is still breathing. When the hair is gone from his face, Valjean startles. The unconscious face of Javert is what greets him.

Javert's skin is pale; his limbs motionless. Blood starts to ooze slowly from a wound on his head that Valjean is unable to see, most likely hidden by hair.

Valjean lowers his head over Javert's mouth to make sure the man is still breathing, and to his great relief, he feels small puffs of air on his ear. Not as strong as he would have hoped them to be, but strong enough to indicate that he might survive this ordeal.

For what can this whole situation be if not an ordeal? His adversary drowning in the Seine. A man who he has once believed to be immovable, like the ancient marble statues of Rome. But, Valjean thinks, marble can break under the right circumstances, can it not? Looking down at the unconscious inspector below him, Valjean knows that this is what has happened to the man. Something has broken him. Why else would he have ended up drowning in the river?

Gently prodding Javert's limbs, Valjean checks to see if anything is broken and should not be moved. Fortunately it seems that his legs and arms are not so injured that he should call for a doctor and leave the Inspector lying on the bank on his own, which he knows can only end terribly.

Luckily, the prodding only elicits small moans from Javert. Valjean knows not what this means, but he knows enough that he will be able to move the man to his home where he can rest. He hoists Javert over his shoulders, Javert's face resting in the damp feathers on his back. The journey to his house will not be easy, he knows. But it's something he must do.

With a nod to himself, Valjean starts his slow trek, Javert resting on his shoulders, essentially dead to the world.

* * *

 **A/N:** You know when you have an idea for a fic you want to read, but no one to your knowledge has written anything with a similar premise? Well, that's what happened here. And, this task falls upon me. If I want to see this fic, then I'm going to have to be the one to write it. Hopefully the next chapter will be out relatively soon, but, I can't really promise anything.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II:

Valjean returns safely to his house, no one stopping him and asking him about the unconscious man draped across his back. Even if someone had, he knows he could easily come up with an excuse, especially on a night like this one.

He adjusts Javert's weight on his back, his wings beginning to cramp from being in a position that would accommodate the Inspector.

Letting out a quick sigh, Valjean begins the task of climbing the stairs. It's a struggle trying to get himself, plus the added height and width of Javert, up the staircase. He's almost sure he bended one of Javert's wings in an uncomfortable position at one point, but with no response from the man, he cannot be sure.

He places Javert on his bed and begins to pry off the man's wet clothing, taking time to dry off his body, and tuck it underneath the blankets. Once that has been taken care of, he quickly changes his own clothes. He picks up the two separate wet bundles and takes it downstairs for his housemaid to collect in the morning, along with his other dirty clothing.

While he's downstairs, Valjean heats some water, and places it in a bowl along with a cloth. He wants to warm up Javert's body, the coldness of the Seine, plus the night air could be fatal to the man if he's not careful. It makes Valjean remember a time when Cosette was still quite young and had contracted pneumonia in the winter. It was a difficult time for Valjean, he spent many sleepless nights by her bed, stroking her hair and praying.

Returning to Javert's bedside, Valjean rings out the cloth so that it's damp, gently dabbing the Inspector's face with it to warm it up again. Right now, his face is ice cold which makes Valjean wonder if he should add a couple more blankets to the bed or not. In the end, he decides to add one more blanket and stoke the fire.

Now all Valjean has to do is wait. He shifts from sitting beside the bed, dozing off, and praying. He knows that God may not hold Javert in a favourable light anymore from what he has done. So he prays for Javert's forgiveness.

The small hours of the morning is when Javert starts to mumble in his sleep and shiver, making Valjean startle out of one of his bouts of restless sleep. He quickly moves to Javert's side, checking his forehead. The heat coming off of it makes Valjean wince in sympathy. He quickly grabs the washcloth once more and wets it in the now cool water. He squeezes some of the water out and places it on the Inspector's head after wiping the sweat from his head, neck, and chest.

Valjean doesn't tuck the bedsheets up to Javert's neck again, wanting his body to cool off. He knows the man won't be too happy about this, but it's either his comfort or his life, and Valjean will be damned if he lets him die on his watch.

He doesn't know why Javert decided to jump into the Seine. He gave him his life, he let him go free. So why would he decide to end it? Could he simply not bear the thought of Valjean being a changed person that he couldn't stand living in this world anymore?

He's pulled from his thoughts by Javert's inane mumbling. He thinks he can hear the man chanting "no" repeatedly, but he isn't too sure.

Having Javert in his bed with a high fever makes Valjean feel ill at ease. He doesn't know what to do so he resorts to stroking his hands through the Inspector's long, greying hair. It managed to sooth Cosette when she was young, so maybe it would help Javert?

Javert's hair is silky between Valjean's fingers, but as he gets closer toward the tips, they get caught on tangles and knots. The water hasn't been kind to his hair, it seems. He carefully untangles them, trying not to tug too hard that it would wake the sleeping man.

The Inspector quiets after a couple of minutes of Valjean fixing his hair and finally settles into fitful sleep.

Once he's finished, he gently wipes the cool washcloth over Javert's face a couple more times and returns it to the washbasin. When Valjean is sure that Javert has settled at last, he goes down the stairs to get water. He knows he'll have to force it down the Inspector's throat and hopes to God that it won't be as tedious a task as he anticipates.

Before returning to his room, he quickly stretches out his old wings, which have grown cramped from sleeping on the chair. He wonders briefly about Javert's own wings. He doesn't know what damage they have sustained from his jump, but he can only hope that they will make a swift recovery along with the man himself. He knows they're not broken, but it could be some unseen injury.

He returns to his room with the cup of water and places it on the bedside table. He's about to prop the Inspector up when something catches his eyes. Javert's feathers look worse than they did earlier that evening. Despite the man's overall dishevelled appearance that night, his wings had been immaculate. But now, now the feathers were facing every which way making Valjean check his own feathers to make sure they too were not in such a state.

The state of ones feathers tells so much about an individual, and Valjean knows that Javert would not be able to stand his feathers being in such a state, even if he is unconscious.

Leaving the cup of water forgotten on the table, he takes one of Javert's wings into his hands and starts to preen them. He carefully rakes his fingers through the feathers, not too unlike how he unknotted the man's hair not too long before. He lightly tugs on the loose feathers, picking them out and placing them in a steadily growing pile beside his bed. Once Valjean has made it through one wing, he looks at the pile with a frown. This is more feathers than what is normal. He quickly moves onto Javert's other wing, giving it all of attention so he doesn't have to think about what the molting feathers could mean.

All too soon he's finished with the second wing. He collects the feathers collected in a pile on the floor and throws them into the fire. He returns to his chair and rests his head in his hands. People only molt during puberty, there is no other time in their life that this happens. Unless…

He's heard stories when he was in Toulon. Stories he didn't bother thinking about twice, quickly dismissing it as superstitious nonsense. Maybe he should have paid more attention to it.

But, who would pay attention to such a story? A story about a woman who's feathers had all fallen out only to grow back in ebony.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry about not posting for a while. I kinda got a bit self conscious and stuff. I'll try not to let that get in the way from now on haha


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III:

Valjean doesn't know if this is what's happening to Javert. Maybe it's just the sickness, and in his own distressed state Valjean is over thinking. Yes, that's it. His wings twitch as he sits back down beside the man.

Before he realises it, his mind takes him back to a time where everything was different. He was shackled, legs dragging a chain across the ground, guards keeping a steady eye on him along with his fellow convicts so they would swiftly be beaten if one acted out of line.

One night, when they were all in their cells, a man worriedly grasped at his wings. The feathers had been in a constant state of disarray, and in all of his years spent at Toulon, Valjean had never seen the man with his feathers preened. He will admit that it is a hard thing to keep your feathers clean while in prison, constantly having to do work with winds constantly buffeting the convicts, guards that would freely give out beatings and not give them enough water to clean out the dirt from white feathers. He can't blame the man for never preening in that place.

Valjean remembers watching this man that night. They had shared a cell until Valjean's next escape attempt. The man grabbed his wings harshly, examining each and every one of his feathers carefully, leaving them a mess. Every now and then he would scratch at his scalp, picking at the scabs from when the guards had shorn his hair. Valjean had felt his wings twitch in some strange form of sympathy, he gently stroked them as he watched his fellow convict.

"What're you doing?" he remembers asking. The convict raised his head toward Valjean and shows Valjean his uneven, yellow teeth.

"That's none of your business."

"If you continue doing that you will have no feathers left by the time you are let on parole."

"Doesn't matter. No feathers are better than black feathers." The man takes his hands away from his disheveled wings and sticks a finger up his nose, clearing it of the particles that had gathered in it during the hard day of labour.

"Black feathers?" Valjean is confused. He has never heard of such a thing before. People either were born with wings that had white feathers, which would sometimes discolour depending on how well they had been taken care of, or with no wings at all – more rare, but not completely uncommon that a wingless individual would be singled out. But black feathers? Impossible!

His cell mate must have been able to see his train of thought on his face, Valjean will admit that at that time he was pretty much an open book, and answered him. "Yes. Black."

"But that's not possible."

"It is. Have you not heard the story?" Valjean feels himself raise an eyebrow at those words.

"What story?"

"All mothers know about it, they tell it to children to scare them, but I'm sure, absolutely sure that there is truth behind it."

An old wives tale? Valjean doesn't know many of those, his mother died when he was young, leaving his sister to raise him as if he were her own son. And his sister, Jeanne, she didn't have to use those for her children, the state they were living in was bad enough to give them nightmares, they didn't need made up stories to help with it.

Without waiting for Valjean to ask him to tell the story or even making sure if Valjean even wanted to hear the story, the man begins the tale, apparently so well known to others.

It doesn't begin with something as cheesy as "once upon a time", for that Valjean is grateful. He doesn't think he can hear a story beginning with those words without thinking of his nieces and nephews who he had to abandon to hunger. The story begins with the tale of a woman, who had been murdered by someone she held dear. A lover, who she had given everything to, even her life in the end.

But, she didn't remain dead.

One week after her death, she was seen walking back to the house she had lived in with her lover. Where she once had beautiful white feathers, they were now falling out, replaced with tufts of black feathers. She haunted the town, looking for her murderer, the longer she remained on Earth, the more her feathers fell out, eventually being replaced by their ebony counterparts.

Valjean remembers being completely confused at the end of the story. What did it have to do with anything?

"What about that makes you think that it's true?" Valjean asks his cellmate. Someone coming back from the dead is impossible, and someone molting years after puberty? Completely unheard of!

"The black feathers, Valjean, they're a marking!" The man's wings flare out to emphasise his point. "The woman, she had become an angel of justice. Constantly searching for the one who murdered her, never giving up. The feathers are a warning to everyone else!"

After the story Valjean had turned his back to the man, and rests on his cot, thinking about what had been said. It doesn't quite make sense, why would it just be her that it had happened to? He shakes his head, berating himself for actually thinking that this had actually happened. It's a story. Told by someone who Valjean isn't sure has been sane since he was paired up with him in this cell.

He tosses and turns all night, his dreams filled with the gaunt faces of lost souls who were forced to walk the earth once more to track down the ones who had subjected them to an injustice.

Valjean is wrenched from his memory by the sound of hoarse coughing. He blinks his eyes a few times and wipes them to help regain his focus on the present. He looks at the bed, Javert's curled in on himself, convulsing slightly with every cough that wracks his body. His hair falls into his mouth, obstructing his breathing. Valjean frowns. He carefully bends over Javert's body and pulls the hair from his mouth, tucking it behind his ears.

He goes to the kitchen once more, this time to get a pitcher of water. Something he had forgotten earlier in his state of panic. Returning to his room, he pours a glass for Javert and places it and the pitcher on the bedside table.

After gathering some more pillows, Valjean props up Javert and tries to get him to drink water. It proves to be difficult, with the man stubbornly remaining unconscious the whole time. But after couple attempts, the inspector finally accepts the water into his parched body. Valjean can't help but repress a snort at the irony of it.

Once the glass has been emptied, he returns it to the table, refilling it just in case. With that done, he settles in the chair once more, this time slightly closer to the fire to be warmed by it, but still close enough to Javert that if something happens, he'll be awoken by it and come to his aid.

* * *

 **A/N:** Comments, questions, queries?


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV:

Loud, wet coughing startled Valjean out of sleep. Before he knows what's happening, he's at Javert's side, rolling him on his side so he won't choke on anything if he ends up coughing something up.

As the coughing continues, he rubs Javert's back. Valjean cringes as the coughing becomes worse and starts to sound more like the man is choking than anything else. Soon enough, the coughing is replaced by short, quick breaths, and Javert begins to shiver. Valjean props the man up once more and forces water down his throat, which is bound to be sore after that coughing fit.

Once the glass has been emptied, he takes the blanket in his hands and pulls it up to Javert's chin. He dips the cloth used earlier in the basin of water and dabs the Inspector's face in an attempt to cool his burning skin. Now instead of the sheen of sweat, it was water.

The sound of his stomach rumbling is what made him eventually leave the room. He took the water basin with him to replace the water and cloth. He feels the thrum of anxiety underneath his skin as he walks to the kitchen, his wings twitching every now and then. He almost drops the basin when he sees someone already sitting at the table, not expecting anyone else to be awake in the house at this time. After he take a moment to collect himself, he realises it's Cosette who waits at the table, her hands wringing together in worry. At the sound of his footsteps, she looks up, startled out of her reverie.

"Papa!" she exclaims, running toward him. As soon as Valjean puts down the basin, she wraps him in her arms. "I was so worried! When I came back from visiting Marius last night, you weren't there! Oh! I'm glad you were not injured when going out once more! I don't know what compelled you to go back out so late, please don't do it again, papa."

Valjean looks at her worried face, water filling up in her eyes. He realises how foolish his decision to go find Javert was. Cosette was already dealing with the stress of having the man she loves be severely injured, not knowing if he'll survive what he's been through. If he had deprived her of a father during this time too? Well, he doesn't think he could have forgiven himself for the entirety of his afterlife if he had died.

"I'm sorry Cosette," he says. He doesn't know if he should tell her yet about the feverish man currently sleeping in his bed. Mentioning him would surely cause her to ask him questions he's not yet ready to answer. "I had something… urgent to attend to."

Valjean sits down at the table with Cosette flitting about him. She makes him a cup of tea, the morning having a cold bite to it even though it's June. She places a plate of bread and cheese in front of him to eat right before giving him the tea.

"I'm sorry, papa, but I must visit Marius. The doctor doesn't know yet if he'll survive, and M. Gillenormand had said that my presence last evening had seemed to make him perk up, even if he only heard my voice."

"Very well." Valjean feels his heart sink. This is only the beginning, he knows. Soon enough, Cosette will have no time nor room for him in her heart. He watches as she collects her things and leaves to see her sweetheart. Valjean sighs into his tea before taking a sip.

 **X**

Water fills his lungs, and he's dragged into darkness. He can't breathe, and he can't see. He feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness that surrounds him. His entire body feels heavy, and any attempt he makes to move his limbs, to break the surface if only just to see the shoreline, they remain still. They are as heavy as stone and Javert wonders how he was ever able to move about as easily as he once did.

Light flickers from behind his eyelids making Javert look frantically back and forth. He must not be as deep as he thought if he can see light! With a small feeling of hope bubbling inside him he forces his eyes open, only to be met with a ceiling. He stares at it, confusion painting his features. He didn't know that the afterlife would consist of him being in a house lying in relative comfort.

He tries to sit up, but in his attempt to falls back down on the pillows with a soft 'thump'. It's harder than he remember it to be. He remembers his dream - was it a dream? it must have been - where he was sinking and wonders if there was some truth behind it.

Javert attempts to sit up once more but when it also ends in failure he gives up, turning his head to look out the window. He just doesn't have the energy in him to continue attempting to.

The light stings his eyes, but he doesn't acknowledge it and continues to stare out the window. He can't see much from the bed he's resting it, just the tops of trees and some distant rooftops. All he is able to process with the little energy that he has is that this isn't his home. This isn't the small room he rents. It's sparsely decorated, much like his own flat, but that's where the similarities end.

Closing his eyes, he wonders who brought him here and why. Why didn't they leave him to drown? He doesn't deserve to continue living in the same world as Jean Valjean, the man who he has wronged in many ways.

Fluid seems to fill his throat and a choked sounding cough escapes him in an attempt to dislodge it. He's continues coughing, curling in on himself with the force of it. The fluid stays firmly in place despite all of the coughing. Javert's sure his face has turned entirely red with effort and lack of air. His body isn't giving itself much of a chance to get back the air he is releasing in such quick bursts.

Eventually the coughing stops, leaving him panting for breath. His throat is raw and swallowing hurts, but he still swallows. It's the only way that it feels as if the liquid building up in his throat lessens without him coughing once more.

Slowly, Javert uncurls himself, his body stiff now that he has a chance to focus on it instead of something else. He's not surprised.

Once his body relaxes, he fills his eyes growing heavy. Warmth sweeps over him, followed by shivers. He tries to lift up his hand to wipe away the sweat he now feels forming on his forehead, but he doesn't have the energy for it to go far. All he can do is grunt in distaste at how useless he now is.

 **X**

Valjean prepares something small for Javert to eat: a piece of bread, and some grapes. He brings it back to the room with him, placing the basin filled with fresh, cool water on the ground outside the door. He can always bring it in later, basins tend to not move from where they've been placed after all. He slowly opens the door, trying not to make too much of a sound that would wake his guest but to no avail, Javert looks at him.

"Why?" Javert asks, anger dripping from his voice. "Why?" he repeats more frantically.

Valjean doesn't respond, he just sits down next to his bed and places the food next to the Inspector.

"Answer me, dammit!" Javert spits. "Why didn't you let me die like I wanted?"

Words are caught in his throat, he wasn't expecting the anger. Surely someone would be pleased they didn't throw away their life in a moment of mental distress? Valjean clasps his hands together and takes a deep breath, praying to God to give him as much patience as possible.

The thing Valjean doesn't understand is Javert was supposed to arrest him. He gave the Inspector his address, essentially surrendered to him, only for the man to run off into the night. How did they come to this? Being together under the same roof without the threat of arrest being the forefront of his mind.

"Did you truly want to die?" Valjean settles on asking. Of all the questions floating around his head, that's the one that jumped to the forefront. He watches sadly as Javert refuses to meet his eyes. It's answer enough for him.

"I have judged others harshly. Sent innocents to their death. I no longer have the right to call myself a defender of the law. Not when -" Sharp coughing cuts off Javert. He convulses as he tries to hack up the phlegm that has built up in his throat. Eventually, he manages to dislodge it, making a disgusted face as it rests against his tongue. Valjean holds out a handkerchief to him and he begrudgingly takes it. He quickly spits out the offending fluid and places the cloth at the bedside.

Valjean watches the events with a frown. "Not when what?" he prompts.

"Not when I have ruined your life," the man finishes, meeting his eyes directly and defiantly. The look on his face dares Valjean to argue with him.

"I told you in the alley when I let you go that I do not blame you for anything."

"I don't need you coddling me!" Javert hisses and lies back down. He turns to his back is facing Valjean, wings twitching ever so slightly in anger. A clear indication he doesn't want to be bothered in any way. Valjean sighs and kneads his thumbs on his forehead.

"Very well."

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you so much for the lovely reviews, they have motivated me to actually get this chapter out quicker haha.**


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